


After Rain

by ryozumi



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Slow To Update, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 04:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14609748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryozumi/pseuds/ryozumi
Summary: When Sougo sees Yamato offer him the same calm, bright smile like always, he instantly feels a little bit of relief he craves soothe his aching heart. He feels like it’s been ages since he’s heard his friend’s voice when he finally speaks again. A slightly bashful smile twists his lips, one side tilting higher than the other, and Sougo finds himself helplessly mirroring the expression.“Someday, I hope you’re able to kick my ass for letting you suffer alone for so long.”





	1. crushed by the empty sky above

“Strippers.”

A word Osaka Sougo never in his wildest nightmares imagined he’d be repeating back to his friend of nearly a decade, Nikaido Yamato, in broad daylight while exiting a school building after his last final of the semester.

“Absolutely.”

“Please don’t joke around. Absolutely not.”

“Calling them ‘strippers’ _might_ be an exaggeration.” Yamato leads Sougo away from the exit door and stops next to a tree box, out of the way of the building’s traffic, and pushes his glasses up his nose while watching Sougo carefully through the lenses. He half-sits on the box and crosses his arms, clearing his throat as he begins in a rare display of solemnity, “Hear me out. You’re finally free of all the stress you've been under for the past six months—”

“I still have to submit my final essay for ethics by five.” The college student taps his unadorned wrist for emphasis. Yamato acknowledges the motion with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Okay, at five you’ll click a submit button and finally be free of all the stress you've been under for the past six months—At least you _should_ be, except Sou, you do _not_ know how to ease your foot off the gas pedal when you’re exiting the freeway. And using the brake is a foreign concept entirely.”

At this Sougo tilts his head, brows furrowing, and delicately rubs at his temple. “How is that metaphor relevant? Moreover, how is the stress I might be under relevant to a suggestion to see a strip show? If anything, the suggestion is _causing_ the stress….”

“The point is,” Yamato continues softly, clearly not about to acknowledge Sougo’s rambles, “it's time for you to relax now that the semester’s over with, but considering your personal history, I sincerely doubt your relaxation capabilities and am taking things into my own hands. With what may or may not be a questionable recreational activity,” he adds with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

Sougo purses his lips, shifting the messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he listens; the strap’s digging into his shirt due to the weight of the laptop inside, causing the button-down to chafe against his skin uncomfortably.

“I know how to take it easy, Yamato-san,” he replies, tacking on what he hopes is a convincing smile. No, he doesn't actually—Sougo’s aware relaxing has never been an easy task for him, if the fact he sees it as a _task_ is any indication. Yamato knows this, but Sougo has no intention of admitting it out loud only because doing so would encourage his friend’s ridiculous idea. “Besides, that was a rather complicated analogy to use on a person with such little driving experience.”

A glint flashes in Yamato’s green eyes as he smirks. “You can't lie to me, Sou. C’mon, it’ll be a fun experience.”

Sougo squints at Yamato, but his eyes wander over to the other groups of students lingering around. As he absently brushes snow-white hair out of his eyes, he finds himself wishing he could enjoy the semester’s end leisurely like them. As it is, all he wants is to get moving back to the dorms for some quiet; there’s no relief or elation at the prospect of a break from classes. The sunlight above is so overbearing after the cool classrooms that Sougo’s head begins throbbing with a dull ache. A small, tired sound escapes his lips. “I’d really rather not get stuck on this subject in front of the religious studies building.”

“Yeah, the irony is almost as bad as your workaholic tendencies.”

The dry look he’s shooting Sougo is far worse, Sougo thinks to himself as his face warms guiltily.

His attempts to derail the conversation don't appear to be affecting the master of evasive tactics, so Sougo tackles a more direct approach. The less embarrassed he acts, the less likely Yamato is to tease him. “Why did you suggest strippers of all things anyway? I don’t believe I’ve ever given you a reason to assume I’d be interested.”

This gives Yamato some pause. “Well…” he stalls, uncrossing and recrossing his arms, expression seemingly carefree despite desperately trying to think up an excuse that won’t encourage Sougo to walk away. He gives up quickly. “You haven't. But like I said, calling them ‘strippers’ might be a bit much. Let’s just say I noticed something about their show that’d be to your liking.”

Sougo’s not really surprised at this. “You’ve already seen them, Yamato-san?”

The corners of his lips turn down immediately. “W-Well, Mitsu and Nagi were actually—”

“ _You took a minor to a strip show?!_ ”

“ _No!_ Please don’t make me out as some sort of criminal. I get that enough thanks to the theater club.” Yamato stands with a groan, mimicking the way Sougo rubbed his temples as he speeds away from the spot, as if to outrun the reminder of his villain-role curse. Sougo’s laugh is comparatively light as he follows behind, pleasantly amused with how the tables have turned. “Mitsu and Nagi were actually the ones who found the club. I’ve only seen a couple of their, uh, _performances_ , but I know it’s something you’d enjoy.”

Sougo tilts his head and whispers, half to himself, “Just how much has Yamato-san’s perversion rubbed off on me…?”

The man in question whacks Sougo’s arm playfully, eliciting laughter from them both. His smile, as easygoing as ever, puts Sougo indescribably at ease. “Their next show is tonight. You can submit your essay on time and come with us afterwards, celebrate the end of the semester with a fun night. Trust me on this one, Sou.”

Sougo considers Yamato’s proposition.

Six months ago, Sougo left nearly his entire life behind. He’d spent a year preparing to drop out of the university his father chose for him and transfer to an art school. He’d spent two years prior working out the actual details in secret with Yamato, without whose support the plan would have fallen apart completely. He’d spent many, many years before _that_ both being convinced and convincing himself he didn't _have_ to resign to the lifetime of regret and repression his father laid out for him — he had a choice, and a chance to follow in the footsteps of the person he's always been proudest of — an opportunity to _become_ someone they would be proud of.

And he had Yamato, who’d gotten him an interview here at Sougo’s dream university through his connections, who’d dragged him to his first real concert as teenagers, who’d been the first to ever shake his hand without a shred of pretension, to thank for it.

Though their families weren’t more than acquaintances, the two boys steadily grew closer after meeting. There they were, two children living in the burdensome shadows of their father’s infamy: one boy used to repressing his own desires to grant others’ and the other accustomed to granting none but his own. The selfless and the selfish who knew no other way to live, no other way to _be_ , and despised themselves for such shortcomings.

Oftentimes Sougo wonders: if they hadn’t encountered each other, how long would it have been until the self-loathing conceived from their respective flaws crushed them?

They’ve witnessed the depths the other sunk to, the mountains they climbed and everywhere in between. It’s not a stretch to say Sougo’s come to trust Yamato more than anyone.

The sheer confidence in Yamato’s claims leaves Sougo no room to doubt him, but as he turns his head towards the brunette gazing idly up into the empty sky overhead with a gentle smile, he finds what’s truly difficult to believe is how Yamato’s only suggesting they see this show to unwind after a rough semester.

He averts his gaze upwards as well, but the glaring light of the sun causes bright spots to dance across his vision. Instead he opts for staring across campus, focusing on nothing in particular while observing Yamato in his periphery. “This kind of suggestion is unusual for you.”

Yamato shrugs noncommittally. “Not _that_ unusual.”

Sougo hums thoughtfully. “Normally you’d invite me out to drink with Mitsuki-san, or even ask Nagi-kun to host some kind of anime viewing party. To suggest, um, _strippers_ , is...rather abnormal.”

The other man runs a hand through his brown hair several times, eventually ending the repetitive motion by settling the hand on his neck. The sigh he releases creates a knot of worry in the pit of Sougo’s stomach. His brows furrow as he selects his words carefully. “Well, it’s true those are my go-to plans since you usually enjoy yourself. It’s just, lately...how do I say this?”

Their eyes meet briefly, but Yamato’s unable to hold his gaze as he confesses in a low voice: “Somehow...it looks tough on you, Sou.”

Such a reason isn't the last one he expects Yamato to reveal—it’s not even on Sougo’s list of hypotheticals. He takes a few slow steps, eyes glued to the back of Yamato’s head, and gradually stops in his tracks. Yamato pauses a few feet ahead, eyes downcast. Silence hangs heavy in the air. When he fails to reply Yamato glances back, eyes crinkled in an apologetic expression and waves his hands about as if to ward off the strange atmosphere closing in on them. He continues walking. “Actually, nevermind. Forget what I said.”

“I’m sorry, I’m...what do you mean?” he questions slowly, the corners of his lips twisting as Yamato halts once more. There's a suspicion forming at the edge of his consciousness, but Yamato needs to confirm or, hopefully, deny it.

Apprehension darkens Sougo’s lavender eyes, sending a pang through Yamato’s chest. After a moment of deliberation he reluctantly leads Sougo to one of the many unoccupied benches planted randomly around campus, sits, and waits for Sougo to do the same.

An awkward minute passes before the white-haired student finally slides onto the bench and pulls his bag up over his lap, half hugging it to his torso. They sit in silence for another minute as Yamato picks his own brain for all the possible ways to reveal everything he’s kept bottled up for the past several months.

The worry as Sougo’s cycle of self-destruction repeated for the hundredth time, the pain from watching his friend struggle alone, the frustration with himself for being powerless to help.

A tilt of Yamato’s head allows the frame of his glasses to block Sougo from view entirely. All Sougo has to go on is the conflicted tone of his voice. “Have you noticed? You’ve lost a lot of weight again.”

Sougo involuntarily stills. The oblivious smile he forces out is a beat too late to be believable. “No, I haven’t. What makes you think so?”

“...It’s not just your weight. You aren't looking good these days at all, Sou.” The older man rubs at his neck, easing away the nerves from broaching what’s always been a delicate subject, even between them. “Mitsu’s sensitive to these things, y’know. He’s seen the faces you make when you think no one’s watching.”

Sougo desperately ransacks his recent memory for any time he possibly lowered his guard, especially around someone as receptive to emotions as Mitsuki, feeling himself sink as he draws a blank. He’ll have to be more careful... “I’m fine, there’s nothing to fret over.”

Yamato’s hands curl into fists where they rest on his thighs. “If you wanna pretend nothing's wrong, do it around someone who wasn’t acting before he could speak. The others also suspect something’s up, though they think it's school-related. At first, I thought you were losing weight because of that, too...then about a month ago, Mitsu pointed some things out to me and mentioned how worried he was and it all kind of clicked together. You aren’t okay, are you?”

The words are phrased like an open-ended question, but Sougo doesn’t know how to respond to his bluntness. When Yamato realizes this he begins elaborating; his voice sounds like he’s lost in thought, recalling some far-off memory as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the bench. “I thought maybe you were overexerting yourself again. ‘Cause of the scholarships you gotta keep up now, or ‘cause you were still settling in. So I did what I could to help you avoid collapsing, thinking you'd get better after midterms, but the more time passed the more exhausted you became, and you wouldn't slow down or complain at all. Just kept smiling at me like you weren't obviously about to explode. So I gave you space, thinking ‘maybe I’d only make whatever it is worse.’

“One night, some time before Mitsu helped me consciously realized how badly off you were, _you_ asked _me_ if I wanted to go out for drinks. Frankly, Onii-san was terrified. ‘Ah, this is how the world ends,’ I thought.”

Sogo’s lips twitch despite the unexpectedly crushing weight of the conversation bearing down on his mind. He wishes himself capable of forcing a full smile out, wishes willpower alone were enough, because if laughing at Yamato’s ridiculous joke would ease the melancholy growing increasingly tangible in his oldest friend’s voice even as he attempts humor, Sogo would roll on the ground with mirth.

He'd do anything.

“We had a great time, like nothing was ever wrong. Then we headed home, and somewhere along the way everything fell apart.”

Anything to alleviate the tension between them, anything to make up for the fact it exists at all. _Anything_.

“Ah…” Yamato’s clearly struggling to remain composed; the strain in his voice is audible. “Got a bit dramatic with the storytelling. Point is, I should’ve known back then. When you said you'd drink even though you normally avoid it, you were trying to work up the courage to talk to me, weren't you? I didn't fully understand. I didn't have the confidence to help you in the end. You stretched out your hand and I ran from it like a wary puppy.”

Sougo’s breath hitches as he fights off the waves of emotion threatening to submerge him as he recalls this particular incident. It’s nothing unusual for them to go out for a drink to stave off the overwhelming stress from school. What _was_ unusual was how Sougo reached out to him, fully aware of his own mental condition yet hesitant to seek further help, and the way Yamato froze before brushing him off for the first time in their shared history. The exact details are vague, hazy from Sougo’s active attempts to forget them, but the sheer reminder of the memory evokes a deep, painful regret so profound it manifests in his expression involuntarily.

If Yamato were anyone else, Sougo would have deflected every last one of his observations immediately. He reflexively opens his mouth to—Yamato did nothing wrong, Sougo had terrible timing, Yamato finally had so many good things going for him and Sougo would only drag him down—but he falters upon sensing the vulnerability Yamato’s barely repressing.

Yamato—a genius actor capable of immersing himself in any role, a man who never loses his composure, who's able to face any situation with a level head, the most reliable person Sougo knows— _that_ Yamato, _vulnerable_. A side of Yamato he’s never seen, undoubtedly dragged out of the depths of his soul. It’s like a million tiny knives are stabbing at Sougo’s rapidly withering heart, and with every puncture he loses more and more control over his own normally collected countenance.

Yamato uses his split second hesitation to cut him off, a difficult expression twisting what’s visible of his face. “You want to deny it, don’t you?”

Sougo bites his lip, guilt flooding his conscience. Yamato’s eyes remain hidden, but he doubts he’d be able to look straight at them anyway. “That’s not true.”

“Even though I’m at least partly to blame.”

He swivels around on the bench, bag clutched tightly to his chest, panic shattering his self-control into pieces. “No, Yamato-san, that’s not the case at—”

“I thought so,” is all Yamato says, so simply, with so much certainty. Sougo doesn't know what he's so sure of, only that his face is far too composed for the despondency coloring his words. “I said so earlier, didn't I? Sou, you can't lie to me. You've always been terrible at it and you’ve never been able to hide anything for long. Why are you still trying to now?”

Sougo flinches. Yamato’s words are more accusatory than they sound, to the point that it's mentally jarring. His friend’s always been terrible with confrontation. To hear him so straightforward for once leaves Sougo reeling. Memories of the past few weeks (months?) are such a blur in his tired mind, even on such a clear day. He can’t find a reason in them, can’t see where things became hazy in the first place. For once, no denial, no diversion, no excuse comes to mind.

“Is it really because of that night?” Yamato asks quietly.

Sougo swallows past the sudden thickness clogging his throat and whispers, softer than the cool breeze raising goosebumps on his arms.

“I’m terribly sorry for worrying you, Yamato-san.”

A grimace twists Yamato’s lips. It’s obviously not the response he’d sought; the disappointment in his sigh is unmistakable. Several moments pass in silence until he finally breaks it, _finally_ turns to face Sougo. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Sou. I pushed you away when you tried to rely on me, even though I’m always telling you not to hold back. I’ve been acting like nothing happened this whole time...but I never forgot the look on your face.” Yamato’s gaze is level, steady, but those green eyes are clouded and darker than Sougo’s ever seen them, like a stormy night time sky. “You can’t trust me right now and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry for pushing this.”

Emotion rushes through Sougo, a blinding white heat burning his throat and chest. His tongue feels too thick in his mouth as he rushes to speak. If only he’d been able to reassure Yamato earlier in the conversation… No, the strained atmosphere between them now was only inevitable considering Sougo’s recent behavior. “There’s no need for you to apologize, I shouldn’t have attempted to impose my worries upon you so suddenly back then. I’m truly sorry for worrying you s—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” The unexpectedly sharp interjection halts what surely would have become an incessant flood of apologies. “ _I'_ _m_ the one who selfishly sprang everything on you out of nowhere just a moment ago. Kinda despicable, expecting you to open up to me after hurting you like that, huh? I’m sorry, Sou. Guess I’m more frustrated than I thought,” he mutters with a huff of bitter laughter, hunching his back over to rest his elbows on his knees.

Sougo’s miserable, to say the least. He’d failed in his intention to simply ask Yamato for advice and wound up forcing himself to act as though that night never happened, only to unintentionally cause all of his friends to worry unnecessarily.

Moving to a new city, a new school, meeting new people—none of it scared Sougo, because none of it compared to the nightmare his life would certainly become if his father hunted him down. The omnipresent paranoia haunted him night and day, asleep or awake, depriving him of the ideal peace of mind he’d imagined finding on a campus hundreds of miles out of his father’s reach.

What a fool he’d been, honestly. When all’s said and done, fearing his father was simply illogical. Sougo’s worst enemy has always been none other than Sougo himself.

No amount of friendly advice could save him from himself.

Sougo’s thoughts may as well be in a foreign language for all the good they’re doing to come up with words to soothe Yamato’s obvious pain. Just as he’s about to open his mouth and spew what are undoubtedly more desperate apologies, Yamato raises his head.

Something about the way his green eyes shine with the reflection of the empty sky above forces Sougo’s lips shut, momentarily silences all his fear and misery and confusion. It’s a faraway look, one he often sees Yamato wear when mulling over a particularly meaningful block in his scripts, when he's deciding on the best way to deliver this line or the right amount of force to put behind that action. It’s the expression Yamato makes when he decides to dedicate himself, to truly give his _all_ to the task before him. It’s as rare as Yamato’s vulnerability and infinitely more captivating. For a moment, Sougo loses himself in those calm, thoughtful eyes—

And nearly leaps off the bench when Yamato straightens from the slouch and slaps his hands down.

“No more,” he asserts plainly, no trace of his remorse from mere minutes ago to be found.

Sougo waits with a hand placed against his chest to calm his erratic heartbeat. When no elaboration follows, he breathes a sigh and ventures, “...Of?”

The older man gestures vaguely to the space in front of him, to Sougo’s rapidly increasing confusion. “Wondering about the past, blaming ourselves for things we can’t change anymore. It’s pointless, don’t you think?”

Yamato’s eyes flicker over to Sougo, capturing his gaze again with their intensity. His words catch Sougo off guard, rendering him speechless; it’s a good thing Yamato doesn’t give him a chance to respond. “Apologizing won’t do either of us any good right now...we’re saying sorry for all the wrong reasons. Anything else we say will probably only make the other feel guiltier. We won’t get anywhere like that.”

A frown draws the corners of Sougo’s lips down. _Won’t get anywhere like that?_ All his life, Sougo’s made apologies: for his own shortcomings, for the mistakes of others, even things out of his control, all in the name of smoothing over any situations from which future problems may arise. It’s a simple rule of life to do so in order to maintain relationships with others as best as possible.

Holding back his own emotions is a simple compromise for that.

_It’s business_ , a voice in the back of his head recites.

_Is our friendship a business?_ a smaller voice challenges.

Sougo swallows, forcing the smaller voice down to respond mechanically, almost mimicking the first voice. “I have to apologize for all the undue stress I’ve put you under.”

“Will it make you feel better?”

Sougo’s breath catches.

“Will a simple apology really make you feel better?” Yamato repeats.

The answer is instantaneous when he’s asked so frankly. It hangs on the tip of Sougo’s tongue, the flavor of it simultaneously tantalizing and sickening and Sougo wants it out of his mouth. Years upon years of habit clash dangerously with the forbidden impulse to reveal his true thoughts. He’s not sure if it’s his history with Yamato that finally entices him to speak the truth he’d never acknowledge on his own, or the simple revelation that he’s just too _tired_ to hide it right now.

“No.” He practically spits the word out. But rather than the relief he thought he’d feel comes a rush of anguish, a flood of hopelessness, because if he can’t conceal his frustration and fear anymore, what on earth is he supposed to do to deal with it?

Yamato visibly wavers. Sougo’s distress is palpable, clearly suffocating him by the way his fists grips his messenger bag tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. Sougo’s current state is a stark contrast to how Yamato processes his own emotions; he’s always well aware of his inner turmoil and lives alongside it, but Sougo refuses to accept the side of himself that conflicts with the way he believes he ought to behave, ought to feel.

Sougo’s lost again. Yamato thinks he might be too.

Before he can convince himself to do otherwise, Yamato twists his body to the side and lays his hand over one of Sougo’s. The younger man’s hands are cold, shaking with the unconscious force of his grip. Yamato prays to some god he’s not sure he believes in for Sougo to accept his warmth.

The words croak out of his throat. “What will?” He clears it, tries again. “What will?”

Sougo bites his lip, eyes glued to the hand resting over his own as if not really seeing it. His lavender eyes focus, unfocus, focus again, glistening with some complicated, restrained emotion he struggles to hold in check. Neither of them are accustomed to the situation; Yamato suspects Sougo knows what he needs about as much as Yamato does, at least until wordlessly, silently, Sougo leans forward and allows his forehead to fall onto Yamato’s shoulder.

Unconsciously, Yamato holds his breath; they’re both so still he worries the slightest movement will shatter the very atmosphere itself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yamato wonders how they look to the rest of the world right now, withdrawn and enclosed in their own little bubble.

Yamato’s absolutely terrified to do the wrong thing again. If not for the warmth growing between them from the only two places their bodies touch, he might otherwise not have been able to work up the courage to lift his free hand to Sougo’s back. It’s a gesture far too simple to convey the feelings he wishes he could put into words.

Cool air washes over him when Sougo lifts his head and meets his gaze. He seems somewhat dazed, eyes dark as they search for something in Yamato’s expression. No words pass between them, but Yamato does his best to return that look with something he’s sure speaks enough for the both of them.

When Sougo sees Yamato offer him the same calm, bright smile like always, he instantly feels a little bit of relief he craves soothe his aching heart. He feels like it’s been ages since he’s heard his friend’s voice when he finally speaks again. A slightly bashful smile twists his lips, one side tilting higher than the other, and Sougo finds himself helplessly mirroring the expression.

“Someday, I hope you’re able to kick my ass for letting you suffer alone for so long.”


	2. i only ever wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sougo’s heart races with anxiety, fear, apprehension and a million other emotions he’s not quite ready to face yet, but if he has to blame one thing for the way he hesitates before threading his fingers through Yamato’s, it’s the warmth that envelops his entire body instantaneously.

The sun’s nearly set by the time Yamato manages to drag Sougo from the peace and comfort of his dorm room out onto the empty paths winding through campus. For some reason, Yamato’s not nearly as surprised as he is concerned to see it in such a state, despite how drastic a change it is after only a few hours. It’s the first time he’s ever witnessed it so devoid of the usual hustle; the vacant benches and lounge rooms they pass give off the same vibe as abandoned buildings in his favorite ghost town documentaries.

“No one’s here,” he breathes into the air, fascinated yet afraid to disturb the ambiance.

“Refreshing, huh? None of the young and hopeful around to sap the life and energy out of old men like me,” Yamato laughs from where he walks at Sougo’s side. Sougo considers remarking that Yamato’s usual midday catnaps probably suck more motivation out of him than any of the “young and hopeful” students, but saying as much would award his lame, jaded humor more acknowledgement than it deserves.

Instead, he replies with a question, the curiosity over which had been nagging at his thoughts since stepping foot outside. “I wonder where everyone is. We should still have a week left before we’re required to clear out for vacation…”

“Who knows,” Yamato responds loftily, shrugging away Sougo’s concern. In contrast to his nonchalant answer, he lengthens his stride, prompting Sougo to increase his own to match it. “Anyway, let’s hurry. I’ll buy you a drink after we find some seats.”

Between finishing his last paper for the semester and constantly brushing Yamato off like a persistent fly until now, Sougo hadn’t been able to spare much thought as to the origin of Yamato’s newfound concern for punctuality—and considering the type of performance, he’s especially curious—but Yamato’s haste sends a pang of guilt for stalling for time through Sougo’s chest.

“I hope we don’t miss anything,” he catches himself mumbling.

A nasty smirk twists Yamato’s lips. “Oh? Admitting to our interest, are we?”

“ _Your_ interest, Yamato-san. The closer it gets, the more you seem to be looking forward to it. I was only thinking about how you always attend concerts of my choice so dutifully. I’d hate if you missed a single second of your choice of show because of my selfish reluctance to go.”

The nasty smirk vanishes in an instant. “No, wait, I’m not particularly—”

“Also...I’m sorry for stalling for time earlier, despite the kindness you showed in reaching out to me...despite everything. That said, you were awfully pushy about this, even for you—”

Yamato’s coughs, a strangled sound coming from his throat. He clears it quickly, finally managing to cut off Sougo’s rant. “Sou. Please. Say no more.”

“O-Okay?”

It’s not as though he’s wrong. On one hand, Sougo can’t resist letting his interest increase alongside his anxiety; Yamato’s palpable agitation is contagious. On the other, it’s more than that: Sougo can’t disregard the effort Yamato put into dragging him along tonight. Yamato, who hates facing his problems head on, who would sooner let a wound get infected than treated, who let more than one decent relationship break off because of his aversion to his own emotions, _that_ Yamato put himself at risk to try to patch things up between them, and Sougo owed it to his longtime friend to match that effort and overcome his own shortcomings, the same way he's trying to match his pace.

On the other hand, Sougo can't shake the feeling Yamato is hiding something far more interesting than the whereabouts or length of the approaching show. If the obviously clipped, secretive responses to Sougo’s questions back in the dorm have anything to do with it, it’s likely that divulging any more information than Sougo’s been handed could give it away.

“Yamato-san?”

“Hm?”

Sougo discreetly chances a glance in Yamato's direction. Nothing appears out of the ordinary, and if Sougo were anyone else, he’d leave it at that—but there’s a furrow a minuscule fraction of an inch deep in Yamato’s brow and a tiny twist to one corner of his lips, and the fact that Sougo can catch them at all is yet another telltale sign Yamato is hiding something.

Sliding his eyes back onto the path ahead, Sougo takes a deep breath. “We're really going to a...a strip show?”

“Yeah, the greatest kind there is. Hope you’re ready for it.”

 

—

 

“ _So_ ,” Yamato draws out the vowel on an unnecessarily long exhalation as he approaches cautiously, a cold drink and a granola bar proffered to Sougo like a sacrifice to a wrathful god, “You’re probably thinking I owe you an explanation.”

Sougo eyes Yamato warily from his seat, rising slowly to greet him and ensuring he takes full notice of Sougo’s suspicion.

In the end, the two of them hadn’t needed to travel very far to reach their destination: the auditorium. The _campus_ auditorium.

There’s dozens of students milling about in the seats (this must be where everyone remaining on campus is, Sougo notes), the numbers of which grow larger as the start time draws closer. Upon their arrival—coincidentally, the exact moment Yamato chose to scurry off to the espresso bar—Sougo immediately wrote off any anxieties over watching a strip show on campus, because no matter how perverted he may be, Yamato’s _just_ moral enough to refrain from endorsing participation in certain activities wherein minors that shouldn’t be present _are_ , and Sougo’s positive at least half of this crowd consists of the school’s underage populace; the other half is made up of students their age or older. Every last person buzzes with what Sougo recognizes as the tense excitement before a major live event.

Needless to say, it’s a far cry from what Sougo expected to be dragged out of his dorm room to. With the current state of affairs having thrown all of those expectations straight out the window, the only thing Sougo’s left with is the distinct impression that he's been taken for a fool.

After he's sure Yamato’s sweated long enough, he replies coolly, “I’m thinking you’re correct,” and holds his hand out in a silent demand for his compensation. At the time he’d wanted to turn down Yamato’s offer, but Yamato insisted before Sougo could get a word in. Sougo smiles pleasantly at the memory, now seeing it as the obvious precaution it was. Yamato grimaces.

"Tamaki-kun made this?"

Yamato clears his throat and gingerly releases the goods into Sougo’s grasp. "No one else so much as looked at it."

“Very well. Explain.”

“Well, Sougo-kun, as you’ve probably noticed, what we’ve come here for is, in fact, _technically_ not a strip show by the general population’s definition. However, I believe referring to the upcoming performance using any other description is a gross misconception on—”

Sougo’s heard enough. He’s _definitely_ been taken for a fool.

“Yamato-san, please shut up.”

“R-Right.” His voice lowers so that Sougo can barely catch his next words. “That act just now would give some of my club members a run for their money…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Sougo-san.”

Slowly, Sougo sinks back into his seat, Yamato following suit a beat later. For a few minutes, they sit in as much silence as can be had in the midst of a crowd of college students. Sougo resists the urge to sigh and release some of the tension knotting in his shoulders, but it's far more amusing watching Yamato struggle similarly in his own effort to refrain from fidgeting uselessly.

Yamato’s phone chimes with a text tone, startling Sougo out of his thoughts. Briefly he wonders who it could be, but the way Yamato glances at the screen and then shoves his phone deep down his pocket without answering has Sougo pondering the contents of the message as well.

A passing student squeezing past them accidentally knocks their knee against Sougo’s; Sougo waves off their apology, flicking his eyes back over to Yamato.

“So, what are we really here for?” he asks after another couple minutes pass quietly.

“A show,” is his frustratingly simple answer.

“If it was on campus, you could have said so.”

Yamato shrugs, a strange smile on his face. “I wasn’t sure if you heard about it or not.”

“So it would make a difference if I had?”

He hums but offers nothing more, instead raising his cup to his mouth.

Another long moment passes as Sougo wracks his brain for any memory, any kind of hint about an upcoming event that could arouse this much anticipation, but for how tired he’s been his memory doesn’t seem it’ll be any help. The waiting crowd’s become so loud he can hardly parse the contents of one conversation from another. Nothing in the auditorium, or anything they’d passed on the way in, gave him any insight either; for all Sougo knows, they’ve gathered here to watch an empty stage.

Frustrated further, he purses his lips. “You won’t tell me what it is we’re here to see?”

“Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

The words slips out before he can pause to think them over. “Surprises aren't your thing. So why won’t you won’t tell me?”

The quiet that follows his question forces Sougo to chance a glance at Yamato, only to find Yamato’s eyes already studying him carefully. He blinks, another question on the tip of his tongue, but in the moment he sucks in a breath to ask it Yamato flicks his eyes away. Sougo shuts his mouth and fiddles with the straw in his drink.

“If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

Sougo can’t help but shrink back. “That’s not what I—”

An elbow to his side interrupts Sougo’s hasty apology. When Sougo turns to Yamato again, his expression reminds him of the boy that’d always tell Sougo to stop taking things so seriously, even as a frown twisted his own face in his very next breath.

“Just a joke,” is all Yamato says, like he has a million times before. Sougo’s not sure if he’s referring to Sougo or to himself or what it means in either case.

Sougo goes back to toying with his straw, a feeble attempt to distract himself. “Anyway, weren’t Mitsuki-san and Nagi-kun supposed to join us?”

“Ah...right.” Yamato runs a hand through his own hair, ruffling it a bit. His tone immediately catches Sougo’s attention. “They aren’t coming.”

“What?” Sougo can’t stop the touch of concern from leaking into his voice. “Did something happen?”

“Nah, knowing them, they...” A huff of air escapes him, something close to a sigh, but his expression reveals nothing. He doesn’t even look disappointed, almost like he’d expected this specific thing to happen. “They’re going to Mitsu’s parent’s for the holidays, but Nagi probably put off packing and they’re too busy. Don’t worry about it.”

“I see.”

_So it’s just the two of us_.

The longer he dwells on the thought, the harder he has to focus on keeping his breathing even. He can’t think of a single reason to be so agitated in the first place. There’s no reason to worry, no reason to feel like he’s actually been lied to and yet—

“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

_Ah_. Maybe there is a reason.

The drink chills him as thoroughly as a block of ice, while the contents appear every bit as unappetizing. Maybe if he focuses on shaking it hard enough to mix the liquid with the slush it’ll distract him from the numbness spreading through his hands.

“Feel like going home now?” Amusement colors Yamato’s voice, as though he means to tease, but his horrible timing sends Sougo’s heart plummeting down to the depths of his stomach.

“Yamato-san...”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

Sougo bites his lip, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I...That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not.”

“You hid this from me too.”

The words slip out unbidden. Sougo wishes he were a better actor, because if he were, maybe he’d be able to mask the accusation in his tone as something less painful than it is.

“I know we agreed to try and put everything behind us, but you still wouldn't have considered coming if I said it would only be the two of us.” He plants his elbow on the armrest and rests his chin in his hand, like he’s provided enough of an explanation. It sounds so matter-of-fact, the way he confidently calls Sougo out for avoiding being alone with him for too long—the same way one would call the grass green or call the sky blue.

An inexplicably tight knot forms in Sougo’s chest, one composed of both vague and scattered memories of the past month and of the horrifyingly sharp details of the night he can’t forget no matter how desperately he wishes to—a knot so large it extends all the way to his throat and blocks the words he needs to deny Yamato’s with.

Yamato shifts in his seat, pointedly tapping a finger against the lid on his coffee. “Look, they’re starting soon. Let it go for now, sit back, enjoy the show. That’s all I wanted to help you do tonight, Sou.”

“...That’s not possible.”

“Is that so.”

“It is.”

Yamato’s finger stills, though his thoughts remain completely unreadable. For all Sougo knows, Yamato’s as done with the conversation as he appears.  “Then maybe I should leave.”

For some reason, Yamato’s casual suggestion shocks him. Sougo’s eyes widen of their own accord, his hands closing around his drink so forcefully the plastic yields and nearly propels the contained liquid out through the hole in the lid. “I—That’s not what I…!”

The remainder of his thought drops off into empty space, yet somehow Yamato understands. He sinks down in his seat, dropping the volume of his voice as well. “That’s not what you want?”

“...No.”

“Then what is?”

Sougo’s mind blanks. Yamato refuses to spare him any time to think.

“Hmph. That’s just the way you are.”

Every word out of Yamato’s mouth pierces knot in Sougo’s chest, the negativity feeding it directly, like a parasite. Sougo wants to— _needs to_ —get rid of it, but doesn't quite know how he's supposed to do that when Yamato just keeps on talking.

“Sou, why did you agree to come tonight if you weren’t actually ready? Was it for you, or was it for me?”

The question isn't a particularly difficult one. Sougo’s sure he knows the answer somewhere. He could unpack all of his carefully compartmentalized emotions one by one until he finds the one that will tell Yamato what he wants to hear. Maybe it would finally unravel the unbearably tight knot suffocating him.

But in the same moment he considers it, an echo of Yamato’s words run through his head.

_Would that make you happy?_

His throat constricts.

_I still don’t know what will make me happy._

He should stop. Stop now, before the people around them pick up on the increasingly tense atmosphere. Stop now, so they don't start arguing in the middle of a crowd and cause a scene like children.

Sougo should stop, because cutting off his own dissatisfaction and frustration and sealing it all away is the only right way to resolve this tension before either of them let things get out of hand.

He should stop now, because he’s finally got his oldest friend back at his side, acting the same as always, like nothing's changed between them at all.

Maybe that's exactly why he _can't_.

The words that fall out of his mouth are no louder than a whisper. “I think...it was for me.”

Yamato’s response is immediate, as if Sougo spoke exactly as Yamato predicted he would. “How many times now have I told you? ‘You can’t lie to me.’ Onii-san’s getting pretty tired of it.”

Despite the complete lack of emotion in Yamato’s tone, the sheer bluntness of the rebuttal sends a rush of something thick and cold down Sougo’s spine. This time, he represses the urge to shrink away.

The last few minutes have become nothing but an unpleasant reminder that while they’d managed to ease up temporarily, things between them have, in reality, only been sewn together with a needle and cheap thread and taped over with an even cheaper bandage. Only hours ago had the wound properly begun to heal.

The last thing Sougo wants to do is aggravate it, especially now that the pain had finally become manageable.

Rather, that’s what he’d like to think.

“You’re afraid to be alone with me,” Yamato murmurs, voice deep and every bit as dangerous as the sharp glint in his eye. The lights dim, but Sougo’s vision is swimming with anxiety and he can't tell if his sight is playing tricks on him or if the auditorium’s lighting is actually changing.

“That’s—”

“Just joking.”

Yamato’s gaze doesn't linger on him a second longer than necessary, nor does he acknowledge the way Sougo’s jaw slacks with surprise.

Flashing lights pulse around the auditorium as music blares; even seated, the world around him sways and spins just like it did that night. Sougo, disoriented, feels all of his carefully compartmentalized emotions jumble and crash together until the labels on each tiny little box blur unrecognizably and the packaging frays.

It’s what he’d like to think, but the bandage peels back and the thread holding the wound closed unravels.

“...Stop it.”

His voice is loud enough for only Yamato to hear it over the music. Yamato pauses, cup halfway to his mouth. His hand slowly lowers back to his lap. A chill runs down Sougo’s back, but he can't back down now. He can't afford to.

“Of course I’m afraid. I can’t tell the difference. When you're joking, when you're serious...isn't that why we’re here in the first place?”

“This is my fault, is what you're saying.”

“I’m not trying to place blame.”

“Then what are you trying to do? This isn't the time or place to talk things out,” Yamato challenges. He’s still calm on the surface, still as level-headed as always. _I suppose he needs to be to deal with me while I overreact._

Sougo holds his own arm with the opposite hand and squeezes, as if trying to find some emotional stability from the physical grip. “You want me to be honest, but how am I supposed to do that, when all you've done until now is lie to me?”

Yamato doesn't answer.

“Yamato-san, do you really wants things to go back to the way they were?”

For the first time, it occurs to Sougo that maybe Yamato doesn't have an answer.

Yamato knocks back a large swig of his coffee, swallows hard and studies the cup in his hands for a long moment, grimace extremely pronounced. “Dammit,  Nagi...the one night I really need something to be magically transformed into beer, and he's not here.”

“Yamato-san…”

While his grimace softens in response to Sougo’s sigh, there's nothing gentle about the words he murmurs to the space between them. “Sou, I can’t tell you what you want to hear any more than you can tell me. Neither of us know what we’re doing. Do you remember what I told you before?”

“Before?”

“‘We won’t get anywhere like that.’”

Once again, Sougo flashes back to that moment mere hours ago of the two of them on a bench, closed off in their own little world; the juxtaposition to their current situation, surrounded on all sides in the middle of a packed building, is quite jarring. He wishes that by some miracle they could be alone again, in a place where he could rest his head on Yamato’s shoulder and feel like he isn't coming apart at the seams.

_Apologizing won’t do either of us any good right now...we’re saying sorry for all the wrong reasons. Anything else we say will probably only make the other feel guiltier. We won’t get anywhere like that._

“You said you don't want to blame me, but you should. It’d be easier. I’d prefer it that way.”

“That’s not what I want to do,” Sougo insists, tightening his grip until it’s uncomfortable.

“Still holding things back, huh. I know I’m not one to talk, but a little selfishness is called for in this case, Sou.”

Sougo barks a short, bitter laugh. “It’s like we’re right back to where we were yesterday.”

Yamato shrugs. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Awfully optimistic to expect things to actually change in a day.”

“...You know, I’m not ever planning to forgive you for hiding things from me.”

“Good.” A playful smile graces Yamato’s lips, the familiarity of which is like a balm to every emotion rearing its ugly head in Sougo’s heart. “That’s how it should be.”

“That doesn't sound right.”

“Well, I of all people probably shouldn’t encourage anyone to hold a grudge,” Yamato concedes, crossing his arms over his chest, “but it's a start. Better than the way you let me off easy for the shit I pull.”

“So...you _want_ me to be upset with you, is what I understand from this.”

“More or less.” Another casual shrug follows.

Yamato’s unruffled demeanor both fascinates and unsettles Sougo, but whether it chalks up to the difference in their personalities or something more fundamental he himself can’t yet understand, the concept of _wanting his friend to be mad at him_ is utterly absurd. “But you got upset when I did just now. I don’t want that.”

While Sougo struggles to puzzle out the meaning of Yamato’s words, the man himself leans down and sets his coffee by his feet. Judging by the sound it must be nearly empty, whereas Sougo’s is at least half full and still clutched tightly in his hand. Yamato all but wrestles the cup away to place it on the floor next to his own.

“That's enough of that,” Yamato murmurs as he reaches over and tugs Sougo’s other hand off of his arm, then gingerly folds both of Sougo’s hands in his lap. “I’m trying not to hurt you any more than I already have, either.”

A sigh escapes him, thoroughly unamused by Yamato’s treatment but grateful it forced him to let go. “I don’t want to make you suffer.”

At last, Yamato sits back again, lets his head fall back against the seat with a _thump_. His face remains directed forward, but his green eyes flick over, half-lidded and hidden by shadows. Sougo sees his lip curl up. “Is that how you think I feel?”

Sougo tries to respond, but his heart catches uselessly in his throat.

Yamato’s lip curls further. It looks like a smile until Sougo stops staring at it and focuses on the way his eyes lower until they’re closed and his expression relaxes into resignation. Somehow, it’s worse than the smile. “Then we’ll just have to work on things until that doesn’t happen anymore.”

“What things?”

“You tell me. I bet I looked dramatically cool when I said it, though.”

Sougo slaps his arm. Yamato laughs.

The way Yamato thinks is absurd, sure, but at the same time, his innate ability to change the nature of the situation in a heartbeat is like a lifeline Sougo desperately needs.

A lifeline that may, as it turns out, also come in the form of a single hand stretched out on the armrest between them, palm up and obviously waiting.

Sougo’s heart races with anxiety, fear, apprehension and a million other emotions he’s not quite ready to face yet, but if he has to blame one thing for the way he hesitates before threading his fingers through Yamato’s, it’s the warmth that envelops his entire body instantaneously.

He gazes down at their interlaced fingers, marveling at the way Yamato squeezes back every time Sougo squeezes first.

“I’m not planning to let go unless you want me to, you know. What'll it be, Sou?”

Sougo’s hand feels so clammy in Yamato’s grasp he worries he may lose his grip on it, on Yamato, on everything around him. How the cheers of the crowd surrounding them, so loud he can barely hear Yamato over them anymore, seem so distant is nothing short of a mystery, but compared to the beating of his heart Sougo may as well be unable to hear anything else.

He shifts his grip, strengthens it, clings on to his lifeline. While Yamato flinches, he doesn’t loosen his own.

Vividly, Sougo recalls a time where they opted to let each other go. If Sougo were given the option—

If he weren't already pushing the limit by holding Yamato’s hand so tightly—

If he could let himself speak so selfishly, he wonders what he would say.

At that moment, the curtains rise from the stage and the show begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tomorrow is seven months since ch1! wow! anyway, like i said, i decided to follow my heart and my heart told me to change my plans and that took...quite a while.
> 
> it'll be a while again before the next one, but thank you for reading this anyway and i hope you enjoyed it!! i love yamasou so much, and this fic is very dear to me so i hope i was able to do them justice ;w;7
> 
> i'm still very shy but you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sobaya_san) yelling abt yamato and gaku all day long!!

**Author's Note:**

> edit: if you know what i intended to write when i first wrote this, i'm sorry...i decided to follow my heart
> 
> special thanks to [ashie](https://twitter.com/CelineJules) for being my beta i love you and thanks for letting me put you through this hell first ❤
> 
> this is the first i7 fic i've ever posted (and my first real fic in a Long Time) and considering how inconsistent my writing pace is, it may be the only one for a while....i really welcome any comments or feedback in the meantime!!
> 
> the chapter title is from amazarashi's [空っぽの空に潰される](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/karappo-no-sora-ni-tsubusareru%E7%A9%BA%E3%81%A3%E3%81%BD%E3%81%AE%E7%A9%BA%E3%81%AB%E6%BD%B0%E3%81%95%E3%82%8C%E3%82%8B-buried-beneath-empty-heavens.html), please read the lyrics and listen if you're up for it! it really contributes to the overall mood and while i think its more appropriate to apply it to yamato, it's also a great yamasou song....cries....
> 
> also im very shy but hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sobaya_san)? i also cry over gaku, yamato and yamasou 24/7


End file.
